


Heart and Soul

by Dino_Cattivo



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Overworked Q, Q Branch, Q Whump, Q swears, Sarcasm, Swearing, disregading personal space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:22:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24678382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dino_Cattivo/pseuds/Dino_Cattivo
Summary: While overseeing a mission Q hears a familiar melody which gets stuck in his head. Determined to get rid of this nuisance he tries to find out where he heard it before.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 2
Kudos: 77





	Heart and Soul

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for the 00Q fandom, as I just wanted to try out something new and I had so much fun writing this. I hope I did the amazing characters justice and didn't make them too OC.
> 
> A really big thank you to [Kira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kira_Katashi) for betaing and more important formating this work. You are the best. Thank you so much.

"No, bloody hell NO. What do you think you are doing? Do you want to kill us all? Do you wanker really think soldering on a metal dust-stained workspace is an excellent idea?"

"Calm down it's just a little dust. Not my fault that someone slacked off on cleaning duty."

"Oh yeah, that's absolutely true. After all, it is just a little radiant heat, charred skin, and asphyxiation. No, no problem at all. Nothings gonna explode here. In a lab full of EXPLOSIVE MATERIAL!"

And with these words, Q stormed off to the next safety hazard in the making on the other side of the lab, where a woman didn't close the container of the chemical she was working with.  
Wasn't this supposed to be Britain's elite?  
You didn't need a Ph.D. to know that leaving a bunch of open chemicals in an area full of people running around was a disastrous idea. Every idiot with a little bit of common sense could imagine what would happen if someone bumped into her desk.

Bollocks.

Q had just wanted to get some nice calming tea. A simple Earl Grey with two cubes of sugar.

Which meant he had to go to the small kitchenette on the other side of the lab.

He really needed to find time to bully security into giving him permission to get his own personal electric kettle next to his workspace. But since a small kitchen gadget was such a _concern_ for safety in a lab full of _deathly_ trinkets and weapons, he had been met with strong refusal until now.

Which was why on his way to the shared kitchenette he apparently had to save half of his employees from their own stupidity.

How was he supposed to do his job and get Q-Branch up to technical standards if he had to do all the thinking for the rest of his branch? Tea could only keep him awake for so many hours a day and he would rather install _Internet Explorer_ on every single computer in MI6, then to fall in with his peers and consume the beverage which had a slight resemblance to coffee. And still – he spends more time then anyone else staying overnight in the office cleaning up after others.

If this kept on, his next-door neighbour and cat-sitter would soon report him for animal neglect.

At this point, every time Quentin managed to come home, he feared his babies wouldn't recognize him anymore. So far, they still curled up next to him when he fell headfirst into bed in his work clothes but who knows how much longer before they were fed up with him.

And then, there was still the load of secret documents and personal files sitting on his desk which he was _supposed_ to have already worked through but simply found no time to do so.  
The only reason why he recognized anyone in this office _at all_ was, that he had already worked here four years before his promotion to Quartermaster – even if he hadn't interacted much with his co-workers and spent most of his time just tinkering on his own projects and assignments.

He had no knowledge about anyone outside the branch including the agents, even the infamous and well know 00s.

At least until now, he hadn't needed to bother with the mission handling and distribution of equipment because _apparently_ , this was the only part of his department that had a ounce of self-preservation and didn't try to sabotage themselves and the whole of MI6 regularly.

Bloody idiots the lot of them.

~*~

Q leaned back with a sigh, his neck cracking ominously from being leaned forward at an odd angle for hours. The wall of code on the screen before him was blurred together and when he took off his glasses and let them fall on the table next to his long empty cup, he rubbed over his exhausted eyes.

Even dark mode didn't make much difference for the eyes if working nonstop for hours.  
At this point, all the lines just muddled together to an indistinguishable mass. And still, after all the work he had put into this stupid upgrade every time he let it run in the debugger it crashed spectacularly.  
Going through it step by step however, revealed nothing useful and the error suggestions his development environment gave were shite. He was fairly sure, the cause for his headache was either a missing single bracket or one added in the wrong spot.

Wasn't it astonishing how such a small thing could break 178 lines of code?

It was sadly very accurate representation of how Q branch operated at the moment. A few manky fools made it so, that nothing was working like it was supposed to and Q just kept running around in circles trying to fix everything.

Like right now.

_This wasn't his project_. In fact, he had finished his own work hours ago. But the plonkers responsible for this upgrade hadn't managed to deliver after Q had reminded them on _three separate occasions_ and he was sure he wouldn't get the code till the next blue moon if at all.

He wished he could just start firing everyone who missed their deadline but with the work ethic in Q branch he would end up all alone. So now he was doing it himself because they really needed the code to let four different groups continue their own work.

But he needed some sort of break or better a few hours of _rest_ to have any hope in finding the mistake.  
With going home and sleeping being out of the question, he would have to settle for some more tea instead, _again_. He got up on his feet swaying slightly – a reminder of the lunch and dinner he had managed to skip again to engrossed in his work.

He looked around the dimly lit lab, finding it almost deserted except the three people of the so-called baby night shift.  
Q hadn't yet managed to figure out if the _baby_ stood for the small size of the shift or for the fact that no skills were required because nothing ever happened on shifts like this.  
There was no big mission ongoing or in planning leaving only small surveillance behind, which was already going on for months or small reckon missions with no stakes that were meant more as practice opportunities than anything else.

He was about to return to his work station with a new cup of Earl Grey – this time with 5 cubes of sugar – hoping it would countermeasure his wooziness when a distress shout rang out, startling him so much he spilled some of the boiling hot tea over his fingers.

“ _Bloody hell_!”

He quickly set the mug down on the next desk and shook his hands to get the hot liquid off before he got blisters. He had no interest to endure the poking of medical and even less working with an aching hand all day, and apparently night as sleep meant nothing to him anymore. Q got his crumpled but beloved handkerchief out of his pocket and whipped the tea from hand, mug and desk before he felt able to face this new development.

The source of the scream was a man sitting in a handler's desk, _Wes_ he thought to remember, staring at his private phone; disregarding Q's new rule about only using the issued and more importantly _secure_ work phone inside the lab. Did they even think how easy it would be for terrorists to get into their network through private communication?

“I have to go.”

“Your shift still has four hours,”

Quentin sighed. Even if this was an easy shift people couldn't just run out whenever they pleased, or they would end up understaffed when it mattered.

"Please. My wife just went into labour. She needs me!"

Q let out another sigh. He focused on his work most of the time and wanted everything to go smoothly now that he was Quartermaster, but he was no monster and he could clearly see the distress and fear in the soon-to-be father's face.

“Okay go. But you will have to make up for the hours you missed.”

“Thank you so much,”

Q had expected the other man to storm out and not _up to him;_ which was why he went stiff when he found himself suddenly in a hug. But Wes didn't seem to mind Q just standing there, too high on the endorphin to even consider who he was hugging.

No one hugged Q at work. _Ever_.

The fact that he wasn't the most social person – his competence and his young age in comparison to his coworkers had created a rift between him and the rest of the Q branch. Q had never minded being left alone and forgotten because it had given him the time and silence to concentrate on his work and additionally gave him space to branch out into his own interests and projects.

He didn't even know how his predecessor knew who he was and even less why he thought it was a good idea to leave him in charge of a whole branch. Didn't he know that social competence was needed to lead a group? It was obvious that no one shared Boothroyd's opinion of Q being perfect for the job and some even showed their disappointment over the decision, by plainly disrespecting his orders.

He looked at the two remaining people expectantly waiting for them to step up and take over for their friend, but they quickly avoided his eyes pretending to be engrossed in their screens.

Which would have had way more effective if it weren't the screensaver a nerd before Q's time had installed which only _looked_ like a working, running program but was anything just.

Huffing _fine_ before setting his cup down on the now vacant station with more force than necessary, Q splashed some more tea before getting his things from his own desk. He would just continue working while monitoring the mission on the site. He didn't feel like talking with whoever fool was at the other end of the line, so he didn't inform the agent about the change in handlers and just set put his headset in to be available if his services were needed. Not that whatever was going on would require the attention of the Quartermaster himself.

When everything stayed silent Q got back to working on his code.

After the short break, it was easier for him to concentrate and he slowly started to make his way through checking if every single bracket which opened has a corresponding one closing the block and that there were no closed ones without one opening. He used the chance to make sure the formatting of the lines was visually good readable and everything was well commented so people opening the code later could follow his thought process.

He was already on line 54 when he noticed it.

Q didn't know when it had started – too focused to notice – but now that he had he couldn't unhear the soft humming coming through the earpiece. It was quiet but calming and he could already feel his shoulders relax and his mind calm down and start slipping into a slight daze.

He was way too overworked if a soft melody could send him right on track to sleeping.

So, for the sake of his work he should tell the man – because the voice obviously belonged to a man – to be quiet if he didn't need something and let Q work. Instead, he turned up the volume to catch more of the muted notes.

He didn't recognize the song, but he couldn't help the feeling of familiarity. Maybe he had heard it on the radio or in a store? Although it didn't sound like one of the annoying pop tunes which made him detest modern music. What was the point if after two songs everything started to sound identical to the point where they just blurred together?

Either the person humming had a really good taste or Q had started to lose his mind.

Q was just about to admit defeat to his curiosity and ask the agent on the other end of the line for the name of the song when the humming suddenly stopped mid tune. There was an eerie silence for a minute. Q nearly fell from the chair when loud but incomprehensible screams rang through the turned-up earpiece followed by a crash and gunshots while Q desperately tried to turn the sound before he lost his hearing.

"WHAT IS GOING ON?" Quentin started to panic. This didn't sound like a simple recon mission and he hadn't been prepared for something to go so terribly wrong. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now. Q had never been a handler before and so far, always managed to slip through the cracks when there was advanced training scheduled to prepare for it – not that any training of the world would enable him to stop the explosion he could now hear coming through the line.

“ _Shit_. Got to go. Don't tell M.”

And with this, the line went for most parts silent expect the violent background noise which made Q flinch and hold his breath hoping it wouldn't be the last he ever heard of the agent.

He knew why he didn't want to be an operator. It wasn't good for his heart.

When the line went quiet again Q already feared the worse and was about to get M or somebody else who knew what he was supposed to do when he heard the smoky voice again.

“Job's done. I'm out.”

Now, after being reassured that the agent was out of danger and a lot calmer Q could finally concentrate on the enchanting voice. It was deep, a slight rumble came from deep in the throat.  
It was a nice voice but it wouldn't be enough to hold Q's attention if it weren't for the fact that he _recognized_ it. He could almost put his finger on it, but it always slipped away, and it drove Q insane. He hated the feeling of being so close to something but still not getting it. One of the many reasons why he never got as much sleep as was recommended.

“Who are y-”

Before he could ask his question and put the matter to rest the line cut out completely. Q huffed frustrated but at least now that the mission was over his services were no longer needed. Screw the code, it could wait till tomorrow.

Bed. Now.

~*~

Q's hips leaned against the clustered counter-space of the small kitchenette of Q branch, waiting for the kettle to boil so he had something to go along with the muffin. It was a leftover from some birthday party the accounting department had yesterday.  
How came that the accounting department always got the free food while Q branch was the department doing all the hard work?  
Not including the agents, who wasted enough money during their mission on lost equipment, suits, cars, and overpriced hotels and didn't deserve muffins. Did they really need to fly first class just to go and wade through the waste of humanity?

“What song is this?”

Q twitched when suddenly a woman moved into his personal space and reached over him to one of the generic mugs placed on the drying rug. He didn't know how the rest of the branch could stand how small the mugs were. Or maybe the size was just an excuse for his employees to take breaks every half hour.

He moved back a step, getting some more space between them. But she didn't seem to get the message and followed him not letting him drop out of the conversation.

Must be one of the new people Boothroyd hired as one of his last acts as Quartermaster then. It always took a bit of time for people to catch up with office gossip and adopt the negative opinions about Q which were floating around.

“Huh?”

“The song?”

Didn't he send enough antisocial signals? Why was she still talking to him? Apparently, there was no way out of this conversation besides returning to his desk and he would be damned if he did so without his tea. Maybe if he cooperated and answered, she would lose interest?

“What song?”

“The one you are humming?”

Humming? He wasn't humming anything. Or was he? He let the last two minutes replay in his head, cursing the slow kettle, and came to the conclusion that _yes_ , he had been humming. Or to be specific: he had hummed the song he had heard over the headset two days ago while monitoring the agent.

“Don't know, just heard it somewhere.”

“Ah, okay. Sounds nice.”

Thankfully the kettle finally decided to boil at this point and he could escape back to his workspace escaping more social torture.

* * *

5058223172

535

94

0

…

Quentin groaned and grabbed his extra cushion beside him and pressed it to his face to muffle his frustrated scream so his neighbour wouldn't start banging against the wall again. Bloody thin walls.

He was finally at home at a decent time, meaning _before_ 4 am and now he just couldn't sleep. Not even with his cats curled up against his side and him counting _Pi_. It was all the fault of the stupid familiar voice he just couldn't get out of his head.

If he just knew _where_ he had heard it before he could finally get closure and never think about it again; Then he could get a good night's sleep.

With another groan, Q threw back the covers and got out of bed much to the displeasure of his cats that were woken by his actions.  
He stumbled over to the living room where he had left his laptop after watching an episode of _The IT Crowd_ on Netflix. Normally, nobody had access to the MI6 database outside the house-intern network and that for good reason, but Q was the bloody Quartermaster. If he wanted access, he would use his Proxy and not so legal programs he had written in a moment of boredom months ago. His laptop and home network were at least as secure as the ones in MI6 or more because there were no Plonker to compromise it.

After just a few minutes of working around, he had managed to get through his back door and gain access without triggering any alarms.  
His search for the mission report leads him to the conclusion that he had no idea how the agent had managed to fuck it up. From the parameters and outline, there shouldn't be a single possibility for it to get off the rails so badly.

But the mysterious voice had found a way anyhow.

The name to said voice was Oliver Williams, an agent in his second year with MI6 which explained why he had been sent on an easy reckon mission but not how he had managed to get himself out of the mess of his own creating.  
On paper, he was very unremarkable for an agent. Orphan, behaviour problems in younger years, ordinary army services until recruitment to MI6 after returning to Britain. No outstanding awards or skills.

But a file wasn't everything. Maybe he was far more capable then he lead on?

Now with his thirst for knowledge satisfied for the moment, Q could finally return to bed and get some much-needed rest. He curled up between his cats again and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to come.

And waited.

And waited some more.

“ **Fuck**.”

~*~

Blurry eyed and going on two hours of sleep Q ventured out of the safety of Q branch and into the upper levels of MI6 headquarters.

This was a rare occurrence as he normally preferred to stay with at least somewhat similar minded people. The general rule was, that Techies don't get along well with agents or pencil pushers.  
Just because this was MI6 and not high school didn't mean that some stereotypes just ceased to exist. And the nerds were never liked by the popular kids.

The only time he hadn't just gone right down to Q branch was when he met M and got promoted to Quartermaster and when he filled the declaration of confidentiality at the start of his career.

He found the level of the agents easily enough by the sudden number of well-muscled people in training outfits, smart suits, or skin-tight dresses. As he made his way through the people happily socializing with each other, he could feel their gaze burning into him.

He really hoped to find Williams soon so he could leave before one of them had the nerve to speak to him.

But like so many times before since his promotion, his wish was not heard and he found the man neither in the gym, nor the kitchen – which was a real kitchen with actual desks to sit at and a real stove.

Q was not jealous.

Not even a little bit.

The agents could have all the nice things they wanted. He didn't care.

Not at all.

Q got distracted from his search in the shooting range, not by the marksmanship – which he assumed must be impressive – but by the beautiful weapons. You could say whatever you like about agents but while in-home base they treated their weapons like their own children. 

He refused to ask anyone; talking to people was too much of a hassle, and just hoped his target hadn't gone home yet. But for once he was lucky and found Williams in the living space happily mingling with his peers on some of the comfortable sofas.

Q really should start a petition for the refurnishing of Q branch.

He stood next to the group trying to catch the man's eyes but without success till a beautiful woman elbowed Williams.

“Williams, I think you have a visitor.”

Her wink was totally needless, and Q felt the necessary to prevent any misunderstandings on the other’s part from the get-go. God forbid the man actively tried to flirt with him to get something like agents usually did.

Q would probably have to throw himself out of the next window in mortification.

“Agent Oliver Williams, if you could please come with me.”

"Oh, and why should I do that, you adorkable boffin?"

Q wanted to bash his head into the next wall till he forgot the last 6 seconds. Or even better, get the tranquillization gas-emitting cigarette case he hadn't had the time to work on in months for a little test. The results would help him greatly in adjusting the chemicals and potency of the mixture…the agent's sacrifice would be appreciated.

“Hmm, I don't know? Maybe because I hold the power to exchange the weapons of every single agent for plastic toys and water pistols?”

The other one sobered up quickly and hastily got to his feet

“Quartermaster I'm so sorry. I didn't recognize you, sir.”

“Obviously.”

Q leads the man to another set of sofas and motioned for him to sit down while he himself remained standing, putting himself in a position of power. It gave him a slight thrill to finally get the respect befitting his position. If he had known that some random agent would show him more respect than all of Q branch combined, he would have ventured out way earlier.

"You ran the recon mission on the old paper factory."

"Yes?" The agent was growing uncomfortable. No wonder with the clusterfuck the whole thing had been.

“Any problems?”

“None...sir.”

Well, he was obviously lying, and Q was kind of disappointed in him for trying to cover up his mistakes like that, especially if he did it to the face of the person who had been along for the ride and had not reported him.

Not that the man seemed to recognize him for that matter.

They had only heard the voice of each other after all and Q could easily admit that the man sounded nothing like he did on the comm-line, so Q probably also didn't. All these days of losing sleep and thinking just for this.

What a bummer.

But perhaps this lack of sleep was the reason for all of this in the first place. Q – contrary to Williams – was no stranger to admitting his faults and it wouldn't be the first time sleep deprivation lead to questionable decisions and opinions. In his defence, after 2 days and only kept standing by energy drinks, building a flamethrower had been a good idea to get his mind off the exams. Having the whole college dorm evacuated because he set off the smoke alarm when he tested it in the shower – not so much.

“That's all.”

He spun on his heels making his way out not wanting to waste any more time on this matter, ignoring the confusing voice he left behind.

“W-what? Sir?”

Why did he have to do this? Didn't he have enough work already? Why did he have to meet with a stubborn 00? Shouldn't he have minions to do stuff like that for him?

But to his dismay, the people working for him did either disrespect him, would _cry_ faced with a 00 or lacked basic human intelligence. And Q feared the outcome if he was to send them. So, like always, if he wanted to have something done right, he had to do it himself.

Normally he wouldn't bother lecturing a single 00 in person and just sent passive-aggressive emails but that had turned out pretty ineffective. And even if it took time, and more important _nerves_ , out of his workday; in the long run he would benefit from 007 finally changing his ways.

It was totally unacceptable that the man never, _NEVER_ , returned a single piece of equipment in working condition. Heck, Q didn't even think it was possible to destroy so much equipment if someone tried and the circumstances under which he apparently lost them sounded like bullshit. A komodo-dragon? At least come up with something believable or just say 'I threw it away because I hate Q branch and don't think they have enough work already'.

Did the man even have the slightest idea how much work and hours Q branch had to put into just replacing his standard equipment over and over again after every single mission?

Even if thankfully the high-stake missions needing a 00 were rare it was still too much.

And that was without the fancy special stuff he needed for every single of this mission because god _no_ , the man had to actually come up with creative ways to solve his own problems.  
If he could tell Q branch to come up with something only for him to discard it after he was done using it.  
But Q was normally not so easily infuriated and 007 despite his bad equipment habit always managed to complete his missions and save the day, so Q perhaps would have been willing to overlook it and just get more resources and personal from finances and HR.

He came to MI6 to keep people safe and if replacing the same equipment over and over again would help archive that then he would have to be able to swallow his frustration.

This man however, made his blood boil.

After all this time Q branch hadn't gotten a _single_ thank you.  
Not when handing out perfect weaponry and not after the branch spent two days without sleep to rush a new invention 007 had requested. The man also didn't think it was necessary to apologize to the people of Q branch for all the things he put them through – he had reduced three operators to tears and that only since Q took over as Quartermaster and his response to Q's last emails regarding the equipment issue had been more than rude.

So enough was enough.

Either this talk would set 007 straight or Q would refuse to hand him anything more expensive than a stapler for his next job.

Not that the man couldn't wreak enough havoc even with something like that.

What also irked Q was, that he didn't even know _who_ he was so displeased with. He hadn't cared enough before his promotion to find out the names of the 00s with them dying and being replaced on a regular basis and as Quartermaster he lacked time – and he was too proud to just outright ask somebody else.  
Everyone in Q branch just whispered 007 like they were afraid speaking his real name would summon the man and bring even more destruction for them to fix.

And in typical 007 fashion, the man was already late 34 minutes and...45 seconds. Which was just unprofessional.  
At first, Q had leaned back behind his desk trying to broadcast a sense of superiority. Just like M had managed when he stepped into her office for his stern talk regarding his responsibility as branch head. But when 007 didn't show up Q had gotten bored after 2 minutes of being idle and had started fidgeting with some random bits and pieces he had laying around his desk and was working on even now and then when he was bored.

When there was after half an hour past still no sign of 007, Q decided that he had wasted enough time on a suborn 00 and if the man wanted to meet him, and therefore keep his weapon privilege he could damn well search for him – and crawl on his knees while begging for forgiveness if wanted his request to be heard.

Q went back on working on his current project. A beautiful _Aston Martin Rapide_ , which was in dire need of repairs – courtesy of 007 who had broken it on his last mission. The dents and scratches were expected and easy enough to fix.

Which was why Q hadn't bothered to do it himself.

The real problem was with the Ford Duratec V6 engine or rather its piston which had seized.

Q had previously used a heat stress tracker on the exhaust manifold and through looking at the different exhaust ports he had found the coolest one which leads him to the problematic cylinder. Removing the corresponding piston had taken a bit of time with how stuck it was.

He had refused to remove the engine because Q branch still lacked a new chain hoist and he refused to use the safety hazard which had been here for generations. He had unscrewed the flanging screws and had taken out the bearing caps and rod bearings, which looked fine. To reach the piston from the top to push it out from the bottom he had to drain the cooling fluid and remove both intake manifold and exhaust. 

Then he could get to the nuts keeping the piston in place with the help of a pipe to increase leverage. Pushing it out from the bottom was still a challenge and he employed the help of two passing by minions to have some hands-on the top to catch the piston and then he could finally evaluate the damage 007 had done.

Both sides of the piston showed heavy scoring and seizure marks on each side of the wrist pinhole. The pattern of these four seizure points appeared to be a perfect square, hence the slang term _four corner seizure_.

Most well-meaning technicians would take one look and immediately say that insufficient piston clearance is the cause. They were bloody idiots because, on water-cooled engines, this would be wrong about 99% of the time.

And guess what cooling system the Ford Duratec V6 engine had.

A bloody water one.

Here a piston seizure was almost always a result of the engine creating more heat than the cooling system can exchange away. Like, say in a high-speed chase which impacts after refuelling with inadequate fuel, which contained insufficient fuel octane level.  
Plus, Q didn't want to think about what it means for Queen and Country if you couldn't even trust one of the best agents they had to stick to instructions and get gas which didn't fry the engine. Being out in some small underdeveloped country was no excuse. Other people had managed before. Heck, even the bloody fool 006, who supposedly was on the same level as 007 had done it.

There was no way to save the piston not even for Q but luckily Q branch was prepared enough and it only took him about 20 minutes of determined search and making a mess in storage to find a replacement that would fit perfectly.

He also grabbed good quality oil for the oil film while he was at it so there wouldn't be any more minor scoring in the long run. He decided to give the other pistons also an inspection, cleaning, and oil them while he was at it and had the engine in pieces before sending the car back on the road. It was a messy process and he was covered in grime, dirt, and oil when he disappeared back under the car on his mechanic's creeper to get the bearing caps and rod bearings back in.

“Quartermaster?”

Q was surprised that someone had managed to get his attention. Usually when he was concentrated there was nothing short of screaming to get him out of his thoughts, but the soft deep voice had managed.

It kinda reminded him of the voice he had heard over the headset, but that must be his imagination. His mind just couldn't accept the disappointment of meeting the man in the flesh and was now making things up, which meant he really should get some sleep before things escalated and he set Q branch on fire.

Still, Q just grunted in response, fascinating voice or not. He was busy and even if the person behind the word was alluring everyone stupid enough to want his attention while he was clearly working on something – or expected him to just drop his work because of them - was a bloody idiot.

Trusting that the message had been received, and the other moved away in the following silence Q got engrossed in his work again.

He had an engine to fix after all.

Suddenly he felt something kick against his shoe startling him so much he lurched up hitting his forehead painfully against the hard steel of the car bottom and getting a nice imprint of a screw.

„BLOODY, _FUCKING **ARSEHOLE**!_“

Q was rubbing his arching forehead with tears in his eyes and fury in his veins while he pushed back out from under the car his legs tangling up with the bastard who could be no other than the infamous 007, because who else would cock-up Q's life like this.

„I was told I cou-“

The calm and dare he says _amused_ voice only managed to enrage Q. He really wished for nothing more than to take the wrench laying beside himself and beat the other’s head in. But given that this was a 00 a more tactical approach would be needed – like throwing something in his face and using the ensuring surprise to smash his nose. But with the tears in his eyes and his glasses being askew he didn't even clearly see the man beyond a dark blur, so he would most likely hit some of the tech instead of the man if he threw his weapon of choice.

„YOU _DICKHEAD_. YOU _FUCKING **KNOB**_. WHAT. THE. HELL?!"

„I was informed there was a meeting, so I came.”

„That was hours ago you Tosser. Now take the piss.”

If 007 didn't instantly vanish from his sign he would not only lose his weapon privileges, which he was now never getting back anyway but Q wouldn't hold back the wrench anymore.

When 007 didn't take the hint and stayed right where he was Q huffed and straightened his glasses to get a good look at the man who from this day on would be his arch-nemesis, the bane of his existence, the...

..no

It couldn't be

**FUCK!**

* * *

_He was ripped out of his slumber with a start, his limbs flexing and his muscle sizing up ready to face whatever danger he was confronted within an age-old response programmed in the deepest bits of his subconscious._

_No sleepiness, nor slow coming to. Just the loud hammering of his heartbeat, his laboured breathing, and the shrill noise of his morning alarm. He tried to ignore it desperately clinging to the last remains of his pleasant dream, which was already slipping through his fingers erased by the harsh reality of the early morning._

_Quentin rubbed his face deeper into his pillow while blindly fumbling for the source of his anguish and when his fingers finally got a hold of it threw it away with as much force as possible, his effort rewarded by a loud thump._

_But the noise didn't stop and only rose in its intensity and volume._

_"Shite," he mumbled into his pillow, cursing once more the decision to upgrade his phone to the point where a car could drive over it without causing damage after his last few found their demise when he dropped them._

_Slowly and very reluctantly, he uncovered his face, his eyelashes battered faintly when he blinked into the dim light of dusk. Everything was blurry._

_Glasses._

_With them securely on his nose, he could finally see clear enough to make out his phone on the cold wooden floor and make his way over to finally get some quiet._

_Waking up can be really harsh, especially if your dreams are better than reality. Even more, if this reality was getting up on an ungodly hour to get to your boring, job._

_“Shite indeed.”_

~*~

_Quentin groaned loudly as he leaned back from his screen. Finally. The last half an hour it had seemed like the clock on the wall over the bullpen was going backwards. When the hand of the clock reached its peak, everyone simultaneously stopped whatever they were working on, logging out, desperate to flee._

_He slowly drifted to the elevators letting the flow of people guide him and just drift in the pleasant thoughts of projects he was planning to do later, but in reality would never find time for, too tired when arriving home._

_He shared the ride down with the only group of his young co-workers his age who didn't look like they were about to topple over but instead speaking excitedly. He listened to them making plans to spend the evening together, drinking and having fun._

_Hah_ _, he should be one of them. Fresh and energetic, not yet tainted by the harsh reality of life and bills to pay. When was the last time he had gone out and had some fun? Quentin couldn't even really remember. Probably in his freshman year of college when everything just seemed new and exciting._

_What a joke._

_He smiled at the group hoping that perhaps he could drag along, break the routine, live a little._

_"What a weirdo."_

_Or not._

_Well, who needs them anyway? They were shallow and dull anyway. Who didn't knew how to use an IDE these days anyway?_

_Quentin was better off alone._

_So instead of taking the bus as usual he wandered around till the first bar he found and went inside. He had never gone out since moving for his job, so he didn't have any preference or experience with the scene. It didn't really matter anyway. He would just get a drink or two, have a really, really good time and go home._

_This decision was biting him in the arse as he sat on a chair by the bar nursing his second glass of …whatever – at least it had been cheap and strong._

_Which was exactly what he needed to endure the terrific wailing, which people dared to call singing. It was just his luck that he entered the one bar, which held its weekly Karaoke night and not a single participant was able to hit even a single note._

_But Quentin was too proud to get up to either go home or find a different establishment, determined to have a good time, and shove the laughter of his co-workers down their useless throats._

_If he had to get wasted then, so be it._

_He was just starting to nip on his third drink when the next singer came up._

Heart and soul  
I fell in love with you  
heart and soul  
The way a fool would do madly _  
_Because you held me tight  
And stole a kiss in the night

_The song was way sadder and more melancholic than the original and so full of longing. Like grief and mourning and it captured Quentin in its intensity to the point where he caught himself swaying along to the deep and enchanting voice._

_Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the bad previous performances, but Quentin had never heard anything more beautiful. His drink was completely forgotten as he lost himself in the music, not thinking there could be anything better._

_That was till he was able to tear away his gaze from where he had stared into his glass and got his first look at the man on stage._

_He was stunning._

_Quentin couldn't tell what it was about the man which left him so in awe. There was not a single thing on its own which made this man gorgeous – it was the sum of them all of him which Quentin couldn't help but admire._

_The man was fitter than Quentin would have expected from his choice of song. His face was strong and defined with slight stubble. The few wrinkles he could see forming only made him look more refined instead of old and Quentin was sure as the years passed and they got deeper it would only add to his charm making him more beautiful with experience instead of old._

_And from his handsome features shone his bright eyes._

_In the past, Quentin had always scoffed when people waxed poetry about them shimmering like diamonds and such sorts but now, he had at least an inkling of understanding why they used terms like that._

_Usually, he didn't care much for appearance – finding the mind way more intriguing – yet this man's eyes were a beautiful shade of greyish-blue._

_They spoke of something way deeper hidden under the surface, a sharpness and intelligence only softened by the sweet words he was singing and the deep emotion which they conveyed. He was not only singing but you could feel the agony dripping from his full lips, which made Quentin wonder how they would feel like moving against his own in a kiss and how the man's strong hand would feel stroking the curves his body._

_Tipsy._

_Quentin was definitely more than just tipsy if he was so captivated by the man._

_He didn't even know him. It was way too early for thoughts like that when he wasn't even sure if the man's mind could match Quentin's own.  
Maybe he was stupid as they come, and Quentin would spend every second in his company bored out of his mind. _

_If a man with this looks would even consider speaking to him for a single second._

_With this new resolve, he let his gaze wander back to his glass as the song came to an end. Quentin would just finish his drink, go home, and forget about the stranger._

_Coming here had been a stupid idea anyway._

_To say he was slightly shocked when someone sat down beside him after he had been avoided all evening was an understatement._

_Startled he looked up into the intense eyes of the singer._

_Quentin scooted away feeling uncomfortable with the other's body so close.  
He wasn't sure if it was because he didn't trust the man's intension or if he didn't trust his own, his inhibition threshold compromised by his drunk state. And waking up with a stranger was the last thing he would wish on his hangover self of tomorrow._

_“Good evening,” this voice was just so unfair. How was he supposed to resist when someone whispered like this so close to his ear?_

_“How come someone like you drinks here all by himself?”_

_W-was he flirting? This had to be a joke! A dare or a bet. No one flirted with Quentin, especially not someone so clearly out of his league._

_"None of your business."_

_He was way ruder than the situation required but he wanted to make it clear that the man could shove whatever fun he was poking at Quentin where the sun didn't shine.  
He got enough of it at work and there he had to put up with it if he wanted to keep his job. _

_"It's okay. I was just curious. My intention was never to make you uncomfortable. You don't have to answer." The words were gentle and apologetic and not something Quentin had expected after basically telling the man to fuck off.  
He had estimated a lot more angry words, screaming, or even a drink thrown in his face. But it looked like the man wasn't so bad after all and could accept being dismissed. _

_This was why Quentin frowned when, despite his words, the man didn't storm off but instead just continued sitting beside him and slowly leaned closer. It was kinda nice to feel the other's body heat against his shoulder and he found himself leaning involuntarily closer until he was pressed against the others side, the man easily supporting his weight._

_He would be mortified in the morning when he was sober but right now it was just too nice.  
The man was nice, and he even smelled good. Quentin turned his head so he could press his nose in the other's neck and inhale the deep aroma of the man's cologne. It was strong and earthy with just a hint of sweetness. It suited the stranger who he didn't even know the name of._

_“Who are you?”_

_“James. And you, darling?”_

_"Not your darling."_

_Quentin murmured with a pout. He was no one’s darling. That was way too cheesy._

_Oh._

_He had just sniffed James's neck but darling was too cheesy. He started giggling for a minute or two. The sound stopped as abruptly as it had started, and Quentin caught himself and fell into deep thought._

_“Quentin.”_

_“Nice meeting you Quentin.”_

_James didn't seem to mind that it took Quentin minutes to answer after laughing hysterical. He was a good person. Quentin started smiling at his drink with a goofy look on his face._

_A strong hand, rough from work with calluses interlaced with Quentin's own fingers and dragged his attention back to James. Quentin starred into the man's eyes feeling his face heat up._

_Maybe it was the alcohol._

_Maybe the hunger in the other's eyes._

_His lips brushed Quentin's ear as he spoke, "I really want to know who would leave you all alone and sad in a place like this."_

_And Quentin just_ broke _._

_It had been such a long time since anyone asked him how he was and how he felt and really meant it and not just as pleasantry or small talk. Tears were running down his face as he started talking, about his life, his loneliness, the job which was slowly eating away on him. How he couldn't remember the last time he truly enjoyed himself and how his hands had turned soft from him not working on his projects like he was used to._

_James looked at him in shock as if he had expected something completely different – something flirtier.  
He looked around the room franticly searching for something or someone. Properly a way out. No man coming to flirt and have a good time would want to be cried on and hearing someone's sob story. _

_Before he could compose himself and sweep his face with his sleeve James softly swept away the traces of his sorrow with a handkerchief before pressing it in Quentin's hands so he could blow his nose._

_“T-thanks,” Quentin's voice was rough from the crying, he looked at the dirty handkerchief unsure what to do with it. He would feel bad to give it back in this state, but James would not want to see him again so keeping it was not an option._

_“Give me a second I will clean it in the bathroom.”_

_"Keep it it's yours."_

_James' smile was still so gentle and understanding. Every sense of the previous urgency gone as his whole focus was now on Quentin as he laid his arm around Quentin's shoulder and pulled him close before starting to draw slow circles on his back._

_“It sounds like you are in a really bad place right now and I'm truly sorry to hear that. But there is still room to change and be happy. I won't say that it will be easy because nothing worthwhile ever is, but you can do it. Leaving your stable job sounds scary but is the money really worth the misery you experience every day?”_

_Quentin wanted to scream at James that it was not that simple, that he had bills and a mortgage to pay, that he couldn't just up and leave and give everything up. But he had to admit the man was right._

_He had been unhappy for a long time and no money was enough to compensate him for all he had to endure daily. For how much longer could he go one like this before it was truly too late?_

_“And if you go and do something that you are passionate about and that you enjoy you can overcome every hardship put in your way, as long as you believe it will be worth it. You said you liked building and inventing. Find something in that direction or find something to leave room for the things you love.”_

_He made it sounds so easy. Like everything would turn out alright and the funny thing was Quentin_ believed _him._

_"And look, you met me and I enjoyed or conversation so far even if I wished it wasn't so sad on your part. You are capable of talking with people, you just have to try. I'm sure everyone would be thankful to have you in their company. I know we have just met but I know you are smart and compassionate about the things you love. Just give humanity a go again and perhaps you will be surprised."_

_Yes, perhaps he would. He had already been surprised when the man he had thought had come to make fun of him or flirt, turned out to be the best thing that had happened to Quentin in a long, long time._

_Tomorrow when he was sober again and had a night to sleep over it, and really think he would maybe even put the advice into practice and resign from his job. He was qualified enough to find something new. Something better._

_Before Quentin could answer and thank the man for everything he had done for him this night and perhaps even offer to stay in contact if that was something James wanted when the man's phone pinged. James got it out of his suit pocket with practices easy even with his left hand and looked at the screen for a short moment before carefully pushing Quentin up to sit on his own._

_“I'm sorry I have to go.”_

_Quentin felt the short press of lips against his forehead before the other man sprung up and ran off in a hurry to god knows where. All he knew was that James had saved his life tonight and he really wished he would see the man again soon, when he was in a better state of mind._

_Maybe there could even come something out of it._

* * *

“Y-you...you are...it can't be... _James_?”

It was not that Q was unsure that 007 was really James. He would recognize the man anywhere, the man never leaving his mind since the faithful night which changed Q's life. He just didn't want to believe that the man he had so desperately longed for, who had made him quit his job and started his career in MI6 was the same man who had made him miserable on so many occasions since becoming Quartermaster.

“Pardon?”

James, no _007_ , looked confused and frowned at Q. He didn't recognize him. How could he? It had been years.  
Even if it had meant the world to Q and he had never dated since then, always comparing potential partners to James – that didn't mean 007 felt the same. There was no reason after all. Q had just been a stupid young man sobbing all over him, making his life harder.

With the new knowledge that James from the past was 007 and was had most likely been an agent even back then it was easy to see that he had been on a job and Q had gotten into his way with his break down.

How foolish to hang on to his feelings all these years.

He should have known that humans did nothing but disappoint you. There were no exceptions.

"Excuse me. I mistook you for someone else. If this is all 007, I have important things to do like fixing this mess you ruined on your last mission. I'm sure you will find your way out on your own."

Q turned back to the car clearly dismissing the now very puzzled looking 007, but Q couldn't care less if 007 thought he had mood swings. He would just continue to ignore the man; they hadn't met for years after all so it couldn't be that hard.

At least now that he knew who his mysterious crush was, finally coming closer to get rid of this feeling once and for all. He would no longer be captured by 007 charm like so many of his targets. That a simple mistake on 007's part had put him in a position where he had been on the receiving end of this charm was just Q's misfortune. 

"Wait! Have we met before?"

007 sounded urgent but Q didn't let himself get fazed and put on his best indifferent mask he had perfected over the years of being faced with hostility and rejection.

“I don't think so. Like I said I merely mistook you for someone else. Now I really think your business here is finished 007.”

Seeing that he wouldn't be able to get any work done with 007 hovering behind his shoulder Q made his way over to the secluded kitchen, which thanks to him forgetting the time again and working into the night, was empty.

He was not running away.

Q just needed to clean up the worst of the engine grime and some tea. A bit of sugar and hot Earl Grey would surely stop the shaking in his hands so he could continue working.

He had just freshened up, set the water to boil, and put one of the off-putting tea bags into his mugs - he really wished for loose leaves - when he felt like he was being watched. Twisting around to give whoever dared to disturb him in his dark mood the tongue lashing of their lifetime, he came face to face with 007.

He tried to retreat but his back was already pressed painfully into the edge of the counter. To his surprise, the mug slipped from his fingers but 007 snatched it out of mid-air without even looking at it, _show-off_ , which left him pressed chest to chest with Q.

Q could feel his face heat up and hoped desperately that it would be mistaken as anger and not an embarrassment in the close compartment to James, 007.

Fuck.

He was so screwed.

"...Quentin?"

_Fuuuuuuck_.

Okay, now he was absolutely screwed.

“I'm sorry I don't know what you mean, 007. If you could please step back.”

But instead of obeying the order 007 caressed his check before his fingers slowly turned Q's face, revealing his side to the other man, but that didn't mean he had to look at 007.

The smear on the wall over there was so much more interesting. Perhaps he should take a sample and run a Chemical composition analysis later.

"Look at me, Quentin."

And Q couldn't help himself even after all these years unable to resist the pull in 007 voice he looked in the man's eyes which hadn't changed at all since then.

“There you are. It is you, isn't it?”

Q shallowed his throat suddenly very dry and he could just nod not trusting his voice.

"I see you took my advice." 007 sounded so smug while saying this. So full of himself and the advice he had given to a stranger years ago, only to move on as if nothing had ever happened.

How dare he.

As if he had any right.

Truthfully, Q was most angry at himself. He spends so many hours working till he collapsed, always pushing himself to the absolute limit to get somewhere, to be _someone_. And now with these simple words, 007 had taken all his accomplished in MI6 away.

Because Q would still be just a bitter nobody if it wasn't for him. He should never have relied on somebody else. It always came back to make one miserable.

He straightened out his features getting the rage back under control and aim for a polite distance. Summoning his past self from the half-year of suffering which had been costumer services. Even if he wouldn't wish the experience on his worst enemy it had taught him well to insult and dismiss while still sounding well-mannered.

"Yes, I did. I deeply apologize for my past behaviour and that, I in my _drunk_ state, gave the impression of being part of your mission objective. It was never my intention to interfere with your operation. I desperately hope we can leave this misunderstanding behind and move on.”

007 should just take the bloody hint and fuck of. Q had no intention of spending any more time in the other man's presence then M forced him to.

“Never.”

“ _Wha_ -”

Before Q could protest and kick 007 out of his branch once and for all, he could feel the soft pressure of lips against his forehead stunning him speechless. It was just too much like back then and it gave Q whiplash.

What was 007 thinking?!

“You changed so much. I'm so sorry for not recognizing you. But don't think I ever forgot you after that night.”

Q's laugh sounded bitter, his mask of professionalism slowly slipping even though he desperately hung on to it.

"It seems pretty hard to forget a night like that. After all, I have acted rather undignified letting my emotion get the better of me. How foolish of me."

“You are many things, but you are no fool – far from it even. You wouldn't be Quartermaster otherwise.”

"Wasn't it your conception that I only managed to come this far thanks to your _splendid_ advice. For which I will forever be grateful till the day my meaningless life ends."

007's face was a mix of confusion and shock. There was something to be said about taking the high road and still winning.

"Wait, Quentin, your life is not meaningless. A far cry from it."

“My mistake then. I must have misunderstood. Being ignored for years must have given me the wrong impression.”

"What? I never ignored you, Quentin."

“It doesn't suit you to twist the truth like that. And it is Q or Quartermaster for you, 007. We are professionals after all.”

"I'm not lying, Quentin.”

“If you say so.”

“I'm _not_. Like I said I never forgot you. I had to go and finish the mission, but I had wished I could stay or take you with me. Leaving you back there was one of the hardest decisions I had ever made.”

“You can stop pretending now, 007.”

“I'm not Que-”

"I SAID _STOP CALLING ME THAT_! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT! I WAS WAITING! FOR YOU! I WENT BACK TO THIS BAR FOR YEARS…in fact, I'm still going from time to time. You never came back. You never even tried to find me. I searched for you. For years. I spent _YEARS_ of my life searching for James. Do you know how many of them live in London? And all of that while keeping everyone else at arm's length because they were just not you. BUT YOU NEVER EVEN _LOOKED FOR ME_!"

“ **I did**. I tried to look for you after the mission was over, make sure you were okay and that everything turned out okay but I could never find you even with a name like _Quentin_ to go on. It was as you and all your records had just vanished into thin air. You did a thorough job erasing your past when you joined MI6. Call me paranoid but I couldn't just trust someone without knowing anything about them. Still, even without knowing if you would turn out to be someone plotting against me, I always regretted not getting a way to stay in touch back then. But I couldn't risk getting yourself entangled in the mess. Back then you were just a civilian and this life isn't kind to outsiders. I would never have forgiven myself if you were hurt or killed because of my actions.”

It sounded so logical. And Q desperately wanted to believe it, to lay his trust again in this man. To no longer be on his own and alone.

But he couldn't.

Too often had his trust be used against him and his feeling been trampled on. If 007 was paranoid so was Q, always expecting the worst of people and never letting his walls down.

"And what all the time in MI6 you never noticed me? Sure, I was just a Q branch minion before but even the famous 00s must know their Quartermaster."

"And how come this Quartermaster didn't recognize one of these infamous 00s. You know we are pretty recognizable."

Both of them fell into silence. Q knew he shouldn't just believe whatever the man said. He was trained and well experienced in seduction after all, but god did he want to. In all the years he had never wanted anything more. Just the short little banter at the end of their screaming match – or better said Q's screaming, had made him happier than he had been in a long time. He longed for a relationship where he could just be himself with all his faults, touches of sarcasm and insecurities without hiding anything.

So far 007 had always seen him at his worst and he was still here.

At this point, Q couldn't fool himself anymore that the things he felt for 007 were simple attraction or maybe a small crush. He wouldn't still be so hung up over the man after all these years if it was something so trivial. In his anger he had basically blurred out his feeling just moments ago, the only thing left out had been the terrifying L-word.

What difference did it make if he gave himself and 007 another chance?

Quentin wouldn't get over the man so what was left to lose? It failed he would at least have a real reason to make the man's life a living nightmare to take his mind of the heartbreak.

He sacked against 007's chest and just like back then, the man took his weight easily. How was it that James was always there, ready to keep him upright when Q was weak? Even if they barely know each other.

The though made Q chuckled.

“I don't even know your full name.”

“It's Bond. James Bond. And yours?”

“Just Q or Quartermaster.”

“Not Quentin?”

"Quentin ceased to exist when I left my past behind and joined MI6."

“That is a shame. He was someone very dear to me.”

Such a smooth talker. No wonder the ladies swooned and fell over themselves whenever he was involved.

"Perhaps I could make an exception for you and bring him back as long as it stays between us."

"Oh, and what would I have to do gain this immense honour?"

“Well there is this Italian restaurant I have wanted to try for a while now maybe you could take me and if I'm in a generous mood I will think about it.”

“Done.”

James smiling was blinding and reminded Q of the times when his cats caught the electric mouse he had to build them.

What could Q say, he was a great catch after all.

James leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Q's lips. Just a soft brush of lips barely there and nothing in comparison to the filthy all-consuming lust he heard 007 was capable of on missions.

But Q liked this.

It was slow and gentle.

James wasn't doing what he wanted or was used to but what he thought Q would enjoy – mainly taking things slow and figuring things out. Build a good foundation to make things _last_ instead of falling into bed first and have everything crash down around them afterwards.

In a way, it was James' way of showing how much he cared and treasured Q.

He may have had a lot of lovers in the past, but Q was the one he was willing to take his time for. And Q was sure they could make it, they had already gone through years of longing and _wanting_ , and their feelings were still strong after all. They would figure things out.

“I will pick you up tomorrow at seven. You look like you could use a good meal and early night.”

James stopped in the door with a mischievous smirk on his face.

“Maybe a good rest will do something against your rude tongue and temper.”

That bloody wanker.

"I take it all back. You are the crudest bastard I ever met and I hate you. Screw the date. I just want my equipment back in _one_ piece and not a _single_ piece, understood Bond?”

“In your dreams. I can't wait to see you tomorrow, Quinten.” 

Q really, really hated his bastard right now.


End file.
